Run to Ground Read Online Free PDF Page A

or not. Publicity itself was fatal, in sufficient quantities, and while the spotlight focused on Rivera, his competitors were free to move against him from the shadows, gobbling up his customers, his territories.
    There were precautions to be taken. At home, the cleanup crew would have removed all traces of narcotics from the ranch by now. The bodies of his soldiers would be tucked away for later burial, well hidden in the event of a police search. The damage to his property could be described as accidental, even written off against his fire insurance with a little sleight of hand, but none of that concerned Rivera now.
    His enemy was still at large, most likely still alive, and he remained a liability until his head was safely in the bag. As for that head, Luis Rivera would be happy to assist in its removal.
    "What is the nearest town?" he asked Camacho, certain that he knew the answer even as he spoke.
    "It will be Santa Rosa,
jefe."
    "Take one car north to watch the road beyond, and leave another in the town itself. But be discreet. I want no contact with the enemy until we are prepared."
    "It will be done."
    "Remain in contact via radio. I will be waiting two miles south of Santa Rosa to receive your news."
    "Si, jefe."
    He cast a final glance at the Mercedes.
    "Burn the car before you leave. It must appear to be abandoned by a car thief who desired to leave no clues."
    Camacho hustled off to do his master's bidding, and Rivera ambled back in the direction of the highway, where his convoy waited. Stone-faced gunners followed him with eyes that showed no trace of human feeling.
    They were close. He felt it in his bones as some men feel cold weather in the offing. Soon the prey would fall into his hands and he would make things right again. He would have justice for himself, and for the wrongs he had suffered at a stranger's hands. With any luck at all he would find out who was behind the raid, and his retribution could include the brains behind the gun.
    But first he had to find the warrior, run him to ground before the man could report on Rivera's operation. Time was of the essence, and instinct told him that the answer to his problems would be waiting for him when he got to Santa Rosa. Fortunately he was represented in the town. If the stranger tried to hide there, he would know it, and his wrath would fall on anyone who helped his enemies.
    Rivera settled back into his padded seat and smiled. It had the makings of a perfect day.

3
    Santa Rosa's main street was deserted as Mack Bolan made his way along the sidewalk, concentrating on each step, determined not to stumble. He looked strange enough already, with a full day's growth of beard, the rumpled, dusty trench coat covering his skinsuit. He could not afford to stagger like a wino coming off a bender, drawing more attention to himself from any casual passersby.
    As if in answer to his thoughts, an ancient pickup turned the corner behind him, grumbling along the curbside lane and gathering momentum, heading out of town. The driver did not seem to notice Bolan as he passed, but half a block beyond he did a double take, examining the grimy stranger in his rearview mirror as he pulled away. Discreetly, trying not to lose it, Bolan turned to casually inspect a menu mounted in the diner's plate-glass window.
    Santa Rosa was the kind of town that noticed strangers. Given its location and its size, the soldier could not have expected otherwise. The farmer, cowboy, or whoever, could not double back, but he would file the sighting, store it for future reference, and he would doubtless mention it to friends throughout the day. "A stranger down on Main Street? Half-past six? Well, I declare."
    And it would rest there, unless some incident revitalized those memories. Unless some
other
strangers happened to ask about a tall man, sickly looking, traveling on foot. The farmer and his cronies might or might not answer, but their silence, if they chose to keep the secret to themselves,